Elvan Soup
by Nione
Summary: It's Legolas' turn to do the cooking. The Prince of Mirkwood has some problems...


Elvan Soup

Nione

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this story. JRR Tolkien does. No money is made from this. It's purpose is pure entertainment for the writer. Hopefully you'll enjoy it too.

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Legolas gazed down into the empty pot with a mystified expression on his fair features. It was his turn that night to cook. Frodo was starting to withdraw into himself again. So Samwise, who usually prepared the Fellowship's meals, had enlisted the help of the others. To better tend to Frodo and attempt to pull him from his melancholy state of mind.

Aragorn had gone first that week, having experience with such things. He had not been a Ranger for ten years for naught. His meal was simple- Warg with a side of greens. Which did sound a bit off putting at first, but was actually quite delicious despite the foul creature's outward appearances.

Next had been Gandalf. His meal had been much more grand, having mesmerized the meal into coming to him, placing itself into the pot, and then easily using magic to prepare the rest. A very lazy way to do it was Legolas' personal opinion. Not that one shared such thoughts with a powerful Wizard.

Then it had been Gimli's go. Legolas had been very off put at the idea of eating any Dwarf's creation. But walking many leagues does tend to make one place aside blood feuds in favor of shish-ka-bob. He had thought it very tasty, even so far as complimenting the Dwarf. That was, until he realized what Gimli had used as the kabob. His Mirkwood arrows had _never _been intended to be abused in such a fashion.

Following Gimli had been Boromir. The warrior from Gondor had concocted a military fashion meal. Potatoes, Corn, and 'mystery meat'. What the meat was, Boromir would not tell. Apparently, that was half the fun of eating it. It had also been quite good, and had filled their bellies for the following day. Well, all but the Hobbits of course.

And now, it was his turn. Which left the Elf with something of a quandary.

He had never cooked before in his entire long life.

It sounded a preposterous idea. But, after all, he was a Prince of Mirkwood. Oh, he had killed his food before. He was an archer after all. Yet, he had always been in the company of other warriors who insisted they do the cleaning and cooking. Elves would never think it fit for their Prince to do such a menial chore. Legolas was quite content to let them.

But this was not a group of Elves. And there were four voracious Hobbits to consider. Plus two rather large men, who also ate quite a bit. The Dwarf, too, could eat rather large quantities. Gandalf was the only other besides himself who did not consume two fillings in one sitting.

He could always admit that he had no knowledge of the art. Yet, Legolas was not about to admit a weakness with the Dwarf present. His father would thrash him for it.

So, he continued to stare into the empty pot. Willing it to release it's secrets upon him. Unfortunately, inanimate wares had no great pearls of wisdom to share. Thus leaving him rather dumbfounded.

Now, Elves were not stupid creatures. Quite the contrary. Most had excellent memories that did not fade much over time. Legolas sat crouched on the balls of his feet, the befuddled look still on his face, as he pondered over his problem. Giving it all the attention his race was famous for.

The first thing that it seemed he should do was discover what they had in stock. Legolas pursed his lips together. Yes, that seemed the best course of action.

He stood with a graceful ease that came as second nature to the Elder, and strode over to the satchel aside Bill the Pony. All the while trying to exude a state of utter confidence. Since it was rather difficult for the other's to read his face in any case, it was something of an unnecessary precaution.

The brown leather satchel that was usually guarded by Sam like the ring bearer himself, sat unprotected. Legolas arched a perfectly sculpted brow- the only sign of amazement- and wondered briefly if Frodo was really so worse for wear. Turning over the flap, he gazed inside and found…

Absolutely nothing.

Legolas frowned, knowing at once who the culprit- or in this case culprits- were. He inclined his head ever so slightly to see Merry and Pippin twiddling their thumbs. A low whistle on their lips.

They certainly could have used lessons from him in subterfuge.

With a sigh of resignation to his ill fate, he flipped the satchel shut. There was no help for him here. Everything would have to be foraged for.

He turned on his heel in a perfectly executed pirouette, and made for his quiver and bow. After securing the items onto his back, he turned to Aragorn. "We are out of provisions. I shall hunt for the meal tonight."

The heir to the throne of Gondor immediately looked to Merry and Pippin. A bemused glow lit his eyes as he regarded the two Hobbits. He then focused his attention back to Legolas. "Do you require assistance?"

Legolas almost replied yes. Not for the hunting, he could take care of that himself. In the short span of a few seconds, his pride decided for him. "No. I'll return shortly."

Aragorn gave a small nod of acknowledgment before he turned to filling his pipe.

Legolas did not pause another moment. He leapt into the nearest branch of a tree surrounding their camp. Effortlessly running atop the thick canopy as he was off in search of prey, keeping his keen eyes sharply fixed on the ground. With any luck, he would return within an hour. Well before sunset.

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Some time later, well after the sun had made it's journey below the horizon, saw the Elf gritting his teeth in frustration. Were all the animals dead? Not one set of tracks had he seen while the light was still beaming through the leaves.

His ears had now taken up the task of picking up any sign of Hare or Deer. Or any other manner of edible creature. Even a sparrow would make the Elf happy. His bow rested docile in his right hand, with no notched arrows drawn in it's taught line. Perhaps he should just un-string the thing and tempt his fate with lure in the river.

Worse yet, he still had to gut whatever would be on the menu tonight, and figure out how to prepare it. Dinner would be very late indeed, and they were not going to be pleased about it. Visions of Merry and Pippin pinned to a tree by four well aimed arrows through the cuffs of their shirts flashed briefly through his mind.

He sighed silently and tilted his head towards another direction. Not one single shuffle from below. There was nothing out here.

Legolas stood and wondered if he should find another location when the smallest sound caused his ear to twitch. It was about time!

Using the small scraping noise to guide him, he skillfully notched and drew back his arrow. He adjusted a few centimeters, a bit to the left. *scitch* Down further. *scitch* Slightly further.

*twang*

"Mreep!"

Legolas felt a smile of satisfaction inch it's way across his face. Whether Orc or Hare, a kill was a kill.

He hoped lithely from his perch, landing easily upon the ground with barely a sound. His light steps likewise making no noise. The Prince couldn't help but puff his chest out with pride. His first grand meal! Would it be Hare? No, the creature possessed claws. Perhaps a Fox then?

Legolas approached the spot. The feathered end of his arrow guiding him in the moonlight. He felt a smile grow as he reached downward to pluck the ill fated creature off the ground. The delicious main course would be…

A field mouse?!

Legolas looked at the body of a small brown furred mouse, impaled through the chest. He twirled the arrow shaft in his fingers, gazing at the unfortunate thing with narrowed- fuming gray eyes. This was what he had laid in hours of wait for? A tiny little thing with not enough meat to feed a Buzzard?!

Elvan curses that his father would have smacked the back of his head for uttering escaped his lips. Oh, they would mock him. Legolas the great archer, chosen to represent the race of the Elder, fierce warrior, and hunter of mice.

He pulled the mouse from his arrow and flung it into the foliage- enraged. This was utter madness. He wiped the blood, not that there was much, off on the grass before placing the arrow back into his quiver.

It was time to take a different course of action.

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An hour later, the Elf returned to the camp site. The fire was already blazing. Feet were resting. Smoke was rising. And eight hungry pairs of eyes gazed expectantly at him.

Legolas winced.

"How fared the hunt?" Aragorn asked, quite innocently.

Legolas spoke through clenched teeth. "I do not wish to discuss it."

Gimli gave a loud snort at the answer. "Trust in the Elves and their-"

"If you finish that sentence, son of Gloin, I will not be accountable for my actions." The elf seethed quite bitterly in the Dwarf's direction. It was probably he who had scared off all the game in the first place.

Gimli's eyes narrowed, but he continued with a different inquiry. "And what dish will you be serving us tonight, son of Thranduil?" He spat the latter name with clear distaste. "For I am quite famished from the hours I have been forced to wait."

"You will find out shortly." Legolas answered, rather terse, as he dropped a small bundle of wrapped cloth next to the pot. He then lifted the ware into his hands and headed into the direction of the river. Before he could disappear into the tree line, he turned towards the two mischievous hobbits with an icy glare. "Stay away from the parcel, or you will both be sleeping like bats."

He then continued on his way. The entire Fellowship, upon reflection, would all swear that he had stomped off.

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It was after another hour, and much foul Sindarin later that Legolas finally sighed with relief. It was finished. His first meal ever. And the Fellowship would be the privileged ones to eat it. They had better be grateful.

The task had been great, but he had not faltered. No difficulties had dissuaded him. Let it never be said that Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood Forest, was a quitter.

As he stirred it a final time, the Elf gazed up with a satisfied glint in his eyes. Peering through the rising steam to the rest of the Fellowship. When his voice rang out, it was clear and merry. "It is done."

The Hobbits all leapt to their large hairy feet with excitement. A ravenous gaze in their eyes. The rest were also glad, although not to a Hobbit's level. Still, the long wait had made them all highly expectant.

"Well done, Legolas." Gandalf commented as he used his staff to stand. "And what shall we be having?"

Legolas searched his mind for an answer. He was not aware if the concoction had a title. It had been thrown together rather hastily. From various things he had scavenged in the dim light. Still, he did not wish to look a fool, so hastily made up a name. "Elvan Soup in Westron."

Everyone paused mid-step. Staring at him as if he had suddenly sprouted an extra head. "Elvan soup?" Sam eventually asked.

Legolas could not understand their hesitation- or the strange way in which their faces seemed to fall. He had worked entirely too hard on this! They had not even tried it yet and seemed to be passing judgment! "Yes. Elvan Soup." He repeated, carefully enunciating the words as if they were all feeble minded.

"But-- Mister Legolas, sir." Samwise began, crestfallen. "We don't have any bowls. Only plates."

Legolas blinked several times.

"What?"

"No bowls." Sam said. In the same manner Legolas had before. Separating each word with a notable pause. "No bowls means no soup."

It was the first time any mortal had ever heard an Elf shriek.

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**A/N**: I know that in the Two Towers Sam does, in fact, make some stew. The bowls have been taken away to give a humorous ending. I personally feel that if I were hiking all over the place, I wouldn't want to load my pack down with a bunch of bowls. But, that's me. In any case, I hope you enjoyed this short little fic :D


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